The Black Tower
by PottedCactus
Summary: A Hunger Games crossover SYOT. Read the first chapter for details.
1. Introduction

Greetings fellow Hunger Games fans! Last November, I wrote a Hunger Games SYOT for Nanowrimo, and it was a lot of fun. That said, I'm making preparations to start a new one. I learned a lot of things during the whole experience after running into a series of otherwise unforeseen problems that this kind of story can create, and I think I'm a little more prepared this time around. For instance, I only plan on updating twice a week instead of every single day as I did last time (that almost killed me). I also don't plan on writing an introductory story before I have all my notes and plot lines sorted out, so read through "Beyond the Fence" for an example of how I write SYOTs.

This time around, I have a few interesting twists planned that will give me a little more freedom with storytelling, but I don't want to give them away just yet. That said, I have a few special conditions that submitted tributes must adhere to this time around:

First of all, there is no age restriction. Well, no upper age restriction, anyway. A tribute that just sits in a cradle and says "goo goo gaga" is not much fun. Please only submit tributes that are at least 12 years old, but submitting one that is 90 years old is also acceptable.

Second, everyone is a volunteer. You will find out why as the story unfolds, but what I will need from you is the reason that the tribute volunteered, which (hopefully) is more interesting than "he or she wanted the money". If you're going to use that one, at least have a good reason why the tribute is sacrificing his life for the money.

Other than that, I'll leave the creativity up to you. The tribute form is on my page. It should be copy-and-pasteable, so let me know if it's not. Fill out as much as you want, but the more characteristics you add, the more likely it is that I will choose your character. Interesting tributes get priority. Plus, the less I have to add in the details, the more personalized your character will be. I would rather you PM me your character's attributes so that I can keep them somewhat a secret until they are revealed, but I'm not going to disqualify a tribute simply because he pops up in a review. It just spoils the surprise for everyone else.

 ***UPDATE: SYOT NOW CLOSED***

Thanks to everyone who submitted! I'm still waiting on responses from a few people, but I've sent you a message, your spot is still open. I'm going to keep the tributes hidden until the start so we all get introduced to them at the same time, but I think I've messaged everyone whose tributes I accepted. As for the story plot itself, I think you'll either love it or you'll hate it. I'm moving out to Seattle in a couple of weeks, so I'm probably not going to get started with this until after I get all moved and settled in. Once I start, however, I will update regularly. Once again, thanks guys, and I'll see you in a few weeks!


	2. The Black Tower

The highrise building that stood on the corner of 83rd and Main was one of the oldest buildings in the city, though it had been gutted and renovated so many times that it bore elements from nearly every modern architectural era. It was named after a local oil magnate who had given much of his earnings to the building's construction when the city was still in its infancy, though only historians and local history buffs could have told you this. Both the magnate and the building's official name had long since fallen into obscurity, and the building was more often referred to by its colloquial name: the Black Tower.

Those who find such matters worthy of researching generally agree that the nickname originated during the city's early industrial boom, when the tower had been home to a series of startup companies hoping to make it big quick, though sooner or later, each would inevitably run out of capital and declare bankruptcy. During this time, the building gained a reputation as a bad omen, the "for sale" sign adorning the billboard out front as often as did any individual company's name.

Despite the tower's popular designation as a bad omen, perhaps in part due to it's Frankenstein-esque architectural nature, it had survived the great fire that swept through the city that left most other buildings in piles of charred rubble. Afterward, the area immediately surrounding the tower decayed into various rundown shops and project homes, and the building itself became a haven for villains of all kinds. Rumors quickly spread of groups that occupied the abandoned tower under the cover of darkness, from insane cultust groups to the supernatural remnants of former occupants.

For seven years, the once rust colored bricks bore the burn marks from the great fire as local historians and city planners argued over whether to preserve the building or have it demolished. In the end, the argument was settled as the unthinkable happened- an offer was made to purchase the property.

The Game Center was founded by a man with an idea, ambition, and the money to make it happen. Choosing to capitalize on the nation's obsession with ever more realistic game shows and zany reality shows, the Game Center took these reality game shows to a new level, offering sums of money to anyone willing to do absurd or disgusting things for the amusement of the viewing public. The building's location in the poorest district of the city meant that there was no shortage of volunteers willing to embarrass themselves on national television for grocery or rent money.

As the show's popularity grew, so did the public's demand for more outrageous and dangerous things. It was not uncommon for a participant to end up in the hospital after a performance, though the company generally offered at least partial compensation. Every once in a while, a life was lost on live television, but the company argued- and the viewing public generally agreed- that when the participant in question signed the waiver, he knew perfectly well what he was getting himself into.

The Black Tower had never been a more accurate description.

Whether by choice or coincidence caused by the creator's frugality, they embraced the building's common name, choosing to leave the ashen scarred bricks, but replacing the dirty, mostly shattered windows with a darkly tinted plexiglass that didn't betray the interior to curious passers by.

The man now standing in front of the tower had been only a few years old when the now nationally popular Game Center was first built, though he never imagined that he would ever actually see it, let alone apply for a spot on one of their various game shows. Indeed, he had never imagined that he would ever even have cause to leave the small family cattle ranch that he grew up on and now ran with the help of three other farmhands.

 _Two farmhands_ , Drake reminded himself with a shudder. He furrowed his brow and rubbed his eyes, recalling the accident that had taken place only a few days ago. He was sure that the accident was his fault, but was it really? Certainly it could have been prevented, or could it have been? He shook his head vigorously to get the thoughts out. _It doesn't matter. It happened, and there's no changing it, whether or not it could have been prevented._

It had taken him three days to drive from his farm in southern Texas to the Capitol in his old rusty pickup truck. Between gas and food, it had cost him nearly every penny of his savings to get here. Everything about the world outside his own home town amazed him as he drove through the scrub deserts of Oklahoma and the endless fields of grassy nothing in Kansas, through the cornfields of Indiana and Illinois and the mountainous forests of Pennsylvania, and, finally, to the skyscrapers of the big city itself. At times, he had allowed himself to be excited about the adventure, but then he would remember why it was necessary, and his brow would furrow, the excitement giving way to concern.

Composing himself once more, he drew a deep breath, then looked up to meet his own cold grey eyes in the reflection of the darkly tinted windows. They sagged now, both from the trip and the exhaustion that comes with long distance travel of any kind. His medium-length brown hair seemed greasy and unkempt, but, then again, it pretty much always looked like that.

Staring at his reflection now, Drake was surprised at how old he looked. His stubble had begun to grow out in the days of inattention, and the stress of recent events had caused him to age more over the duration of this one trip than he had over the last five years. He shook this thought away as well; why shouldn't he look old? After all, he had just passed the forty year milestone.

A bell rang out nearby, and he jumped, startled. The door next to him swung open and a young couple exited the building, checks in hand, excitedly talking about what they were going to do with their newly acquired spoils. Drake watched as the two walked down the sidewalk and disappeared around a corner. The door swung closed again, and with a last swoosh of air, sealed off the outside world.

 _You're distracting yourself again_ , he thought. He found it rather funny that he had been able to travel hundreds of miles across several states without a problem, but he was finding himself unable to take the last few steps. Now that he was actually here, he found himself starting to panic, coming up with all sorts of reasons why this was a bad idea.

Maybe it would be easier to run away and join the circus. He had talents that they could work with. He was good with animals. Maybe he could be a monkey trainer. Yes, that's it. He would could join the circus as a monkey trainer under a pseudonym and travel from town to town in the circus wagon. Nobody would ever hear from him again, and he could leave Drake Wilson's past behind and become someone new. Wouldn't that be great?

 _No_ , he reminded himself. _You have to do this. There is no alternative._

As he tried to overcome the mental impasse, Drake watched out of the corner of his eye as a teenager dressed in a black hoodie and sweatpants swept past him, pulled the doors open, and disappeared inside.

See? It's that simple. All he had to do was open the door and go inside. He wasn't sure why, but he imagined that as soon as he stepped through the doors, he would be labelled as an imposter and would be kicked out or something equally outrageous.

 _This is stupid_ , Drake thought to himself. _You're running out of time. This isn't going to get any easier. Just do it._

With that, he composed himself, took a deep breath, and counted down.

 _Three. Two. One. Go._

At the mental trigger, he forced himself to stride forward, throw the black doors open, and step inside. In his mind, he imagined some kind of physical block preventing him from entering, but, of course, there was no such block in reality. Instead, as the bell rang at his entrance, he was hit by a wall of cold, stale air.

 _There's no turning back now._


	3. Drake

Drake paused a moment in the doorway to take in the scene.

He wasn't sure what he had really been expecting, but the reality reminded him of the waiting room of a doctor's office. There were several rows of plastic chairs sparsely filled with people of all types. A few were filling out forms on clipboards, though most seemed like they had finished that a long time ago, and had moved on to other ways to pass the time. A few were reading the magazines strewn on various tables, though most had manifested their own forms of entertainment. One old lady in the far corner was asleep, snoring shamelessly.

The door closed behind him with a sucking sound, cutting off the stream of sunlight, leaving only the softly flickering fluorescent lights to illuminate the room. He hesitated for a moment before urging himself to move forward.

Trying to keep from drawing attention to himself, he sat down in one of the empty chairs in the far back corner of the room. Not really sure what else to do, he picked up one of the many advertisement catalogs strewn across a nearby stained coffee table and flipped through the pages. Noticing that the magazine was out of date by nearly three months, he quickly set it back down with disgust. Tapping his fingers restlessly on the leg of his jeans, he looked around, unsure of what he was supposed to do or where he was supposed to go from here. Was he supposed to talk to someone? Was he supposed to be filling out information on one of those clipboards? Should he have instead gone through one of the many unmarked doors?

It was an unexpected problem, and he wasn't sure what to do about it. Everyone else except him seemed to just know what to do, and with each passing second, Drake became more embarrassed and self-conscious, as if he was somehow missing something obvious.

He thought about asking one of these people what the proper procedure was, but he wasn't sure if that kind of thing was allowed. In fact, besides the scratch of pens and the occasional cough or rustle of a magazine page turning, there was almost no sound at all. Listening to the sounds of the room, Drake jumped as he heard a loud popping noise nearby. He turned to see the girl next to him stick her tongue out to retrieve the last bit of gum from the burst bubble that remained on her chin. She was hunched over in front of a hot pink laptop, focusing intently on the screen, apparently oblivious to the rest of the world.

Drake had never really had great vision, but he had no idea how anyone could keep track of the chaotic mess on the laptop's screen. Various windows were opening and closing, each with color-coded text scrolling through them too quickly for him to be able to read their contents.

Bored, he decided to make a game of it, trying to make out a many of the words as possible before they scrolled away. There seemed to be just as many symbols as letters, but certain words, such as "terminal", "sudo", and "~Caspar$", would pop up more frequently than others. Caught up in his little invented game, it was a moment before he realized that the typing had stopped, and that the manicured nails, once a glossy pink blur against black keys, were now tapping the edge of the laptop expectantly.

He looked up to see that the girl was now watching him with curiosity, one eyebrow raised. Drake quickly averted his gaze. He felt warmth rush to his face, embarrassed that he had been caught staring. The girl rolled her eyes comically and smirked, then grabbed the edge of the laptop's monitor and rotated it away so that now Drake could only see the Hello Kitty stickers plastered across the laptop's back.

As the girl once more allowed herself to be absorbed by contents of the screen, Drake became absorbed with the carpet, too embarrassed to turn his attention anywhere else until he heard the bell for the door ring. Glad for a distraction, he glanced up to see an old man dressed in a red button down shirt and khaki pants stroll through the doors. His scarce gray hair was receding, revealing a bald scalp mottled with brown marks. Drake guessed that the man must have been in his seventies, and though he required the use of a black cane to walk, he seemed as jubilant and full of energy as a small child. He smiled brilliantly at the old lady behind the counter, who looked up from the novel she was reading to inspect the newcomer.

Hoping to get an idea of what the normal procedure was, Drake sat up and watched as the old man walked straight up to the front and started talking to the old lady behind the counter. The noise of someone talking sounded strange in the midst of so much silence, but the old man didn't seem to notice. After a few words and an exchange of papers, the lady handed him something and he found a seat near the front of the room.

Following the old man's lead, Drake stood up and approached the front of the room. The old lady behind the counter looked up from the fantasy novel she had been engrossed in and stared at him expectantly, her expression oozing with boredom.

"Um..", Drake hesitated, unsure of what to say. The sound of his own voice surprised him. He looked around quickly, but, seeing that nobody had even been bothered to look up, he forced himself to continue. "I'm here to.. uh.. sign up?"

The old lady nodded slightly and reached under the counter, retrieving a clipboard with several pages of a questionairre already attached. In the dry monotone of someone who has had to repeat the same words a thousand times per day, she dryly rattled out, "Fill out these forms, and we'll add you to the waiting list. If you pass the preliminary screening, you'll get a response in six to eight weeks." She dropped the clipboard in front of him, then returned her attention to the book.

As the clipboard clattered in front of him, a stone dropped in Drake's stomach.

 _Six to eight weeks_.

His hand unconsciously moved to the outside of his pants pocket, and he ran his hand along the pant leg, where the shape of his wallet protruded. After expenses of the trip, he only had twenty-seven dollars left. It wasn't even enough for a hotel room. He had been counting on this to pull through. In retrospect, he supposed that was not a very smart thing to do.

A bead of sweat formed on his brow as the reality hit him. _I don't have six to eight weeks. I don't know if I even have one week before they discover what I've done._

With a croak, he managed to smile and give the lady an empty thanks before turning around and returning to his seat with the clipboard. The girl who had been sitting there had disappeared in his absence, but Drake didn't really care. All he could think about was how much trouble he was in.

The pen shook in his trembling hand as he stared down at the form. The first page asked the simplest of questions, but Drake couldn't concentrate on it. His mind was far away, desperately trying to figure out what he was going to do now that this plan had fallen through. _Where am I going to sleep tonight?How am I going to get food? Am I going to die here?_

"Is this seat taken?" Drake looked up at the unexpected voice. Snapping out of his worrisome thoughts, he found himself looking at the old man that he had seen approach the counter earlier. Drake found himself unable to speak, even as the old man repeated himself. "Mind if I sit down?"

Not waiting for a response, the old man flopped down in the seat next to Drake with a satisfied sigh. Though he was more than a little uncomfortable with the old man's behavior, Drake was both too stunned and too polite to say otherwise. As the old man made himself comfortable, Drake noticed a few things that he hadn't before, the most striking of which was that the hand that held the cane was not a hand at all. His right arm tapered down to a stub, at the end of which was a silver metallic hook.

"Ah, yes", the old man sighed, noticing that Drake's attention had moved to his claw hand. The old man tapped it lightly against the cane. "You know, it's not as bad as it seems. There are worse ways to be handicapped, for sure. I dare you to find a more capable nose picker." The old man chuckled as he stuck the end of the hook into his nose and rooted around with it.

Drake wasn't really sure if it was appropriate for him to laugh or not. Either way, he was a little bit disgusted.

With his normal hand, the old man slapped Drake on the back, and gave him the same jubilant smile he gave to the lady behind the counter, "You're new here, aren't you? No, don't try to deny it, I can smell the new meat from the moment they walk in the door. The name's Benjamin, but most just call me 'Old Ben'."

Old Ben held his hooked hand out to Drake, who looked down at the prosthetic, unsure of how exactly he was supposed to shake the hooked hand. Reluctantly, he reached out, grabbed the cold, metallic hook, and shook it. "I'm Drake."

Old Ben smiled, happy that the newcomer was playing along. Brightly, he asked, "So what brings you here?"

Drake felt a moment of panic at the question. The events of the last few days once again flooded his thoughts, and he searched for an explanation that would make sense. Through his jumbled thoughts, he tried to speak his mind, but only a rasp came out. He shook his head, regaining his thoughts, then responded, "It's complicated."

Old Ben pulled back and threw his hands up teasingly, though his smile never faded. "Whoa, hey, man. I didn't mean to put you on the spot. If it's your business, it's your business. Most people are proud of being here, that's all. I'm just an old man trying to make conversation."

Drake wished that he wouldn't, but didn't really think he had a choice in the matter.

Leaning in, Old Ben became more somber. "Hey, it's okay to be afraid. Everyone is a little scared their first time, even those who claim they're not. In fact, if you're not a little afraid, you're a fool. You've gotta be alert and on your toes to survive out there." Old Ben punched at the air, giving Drake a wry smile, then hit him on the shoulder playfully. "I'm just kidding, you'll be fine. They've got the system down by now. Boy, you should have seen this place when it first started. It was a mess, and I would know- I was one of the first." He paused a moment, scratching the stubble of his chin with his hooked hand, then added, "You know, I may even have _been_ the first, but that hardly matters now. I've been in practically every game here, and I know them inside and out. I know how the Game Center thinks and how they work. I'm telling you, if you keep your head and don't panic, you'll be fine. You may even make a new friend or two." He grandly gestured to himself at this. "Hey, I was afraid my first time too, but it soon passed. It always does. I've been through this thing plenty of times since, and I'm still alive and going strong."

Drake nodded, but didn't look up. Old Ben watched Drake for a moment, studying his response, then asked, "That's not it, is it? Look, it's okay. You don't have to be ashamed. Is it a money issue? Don't let that bother you. Needing money doesn't make you any less of a man." He gestured around the room with his hooked hand. "Look at these people. Do you think any one of them would be here if it wasn't for the money?"

Drake nodded absentmindedly and followed the hooked hand as it swept around the room, then frowned, noticing that the room was considerably more empty than when he had first entered, as if the occupants had simply disappeared into thin air. He didn't get time to really think about this, though, as Old Ben gripped his shoulders and turned Drake toward him. "Let me get right to the point. I can tell when people are in trouble, and you, my friend, have that look to you. I don't know what the trouble is, but I want to help you if I can. You seem like a good guy, and I hate to see good guys troubled."

Drake hesitated, unsure of if he should trust this stranger. After a moment of internal debate, he decided that he really had nothing to lose anyway. Drake took a deep breath, then explained his situation to Old Ben, but took care to omit parts that might not get him into trouble, or Old Ben by proxy. Drake ended his story with how he was now stuck in this foreign town with no money or way to get more, no place to stay, and no way to get back home.

Old Ben listened intently to Drake's story, and nodded intently as he began to understand Drake's problem. He sat back and stared at the ceiling, rubbing the stubble on his chin with his hooked hand as he considered the problem. With a judicious nod, he reached into his pocket and produced a small red ticket. "Tell you what. Why don't you take my spot today? I think I could use a day off."

Drake was taken aback at the gesture. This was far more than he had ever hoped to expect from someone he had just met. Drake motioned toward the clipboard in front of him, loaded down with pages of blank forms. "What about these forms?"

Old Ben waved it off. "Eh, the forms are really just a formality. That's really just to scare away the people who aren't all that committed. Believe me, they don't really care about the individual. This ticket will get you into the stockyard. At least that's what I call it."

Drake chucked as he understood the joke. Looking back at Old Ben, he asked, "Is that where everyone's disappeared to?"

Old Ben let out an uproarious belly laugh. "Disappeared. Nice one. Yea, that'd be it, and with that ticket, you can join 'em."

Drake stood up, energy beginning to flood through his body as he once again filled with hope.

"One more thing." Leaning on his cane, Old Ben stood up with a bit of difficulty and a grunt. "If it doesn't work out for you, come find me and I'll give you a place to stay." The hook hand rubbed the stubble again, and he added, "Actually, I'd like it if you stopped by to see me afterward anyway and let me know how it goes. Maybe then you'll be able to tell me the _whole_ story." He winked at Drake, adding, "I do love a good story."

Drake bit his lip, unable to find words to tell Old Ben how thankful he was. He had never before felt so indebted to anyone. He wasn't sure what to say or how to respond to such kindness from a stranger.

Old Ben simply smiled and nodded knowingly. Pointing his hooked hand toward the unmarked door in the corner, he smiled, "You better hurry up, now. The testing starts in a few minutes. If you miss that, then you'll have to wait until tomorrow."

Drake frowned at this. "Testing?"

Old Ben nodded, "Oh, you'll see. Go on now. I'll see you when it's all over."


	4. Bekka

Bekka had chosen the desk near the back corner of the testing room for its isolation, though as the room slowly filled up, she had begun to feel more and more claustrophobic. Why did they have to fit these desks so closely together? She had half a mind to break the nearby desks, rendering them unusable, just so she could get some space between her and other people. In the end, she decided against it, though just barely. After waiting a month and a half, she didn't much feel like getting thrown out over such a preventable matter.

Instead, she closed her eyes and began to meditate, bringing to mind the vast ocean and lapping sound of the waves against the shores that her hometown was known for. She could almost smell the salty breeze and odor of sunscreen wafting through the air, when she was torn away from her peaceful thoughts by a slight cough meant to get her attention. Annoyed, her eyes snapped open to study the man before her.

She was immediately repulsed by the man's oily, unkempt brown hair that fell to his shoulders and stubbly face that looked like it hadn't been shaven in a week. The man lowered his cold, gray eyes, and, pointing to the desk adjacent to her, asked, almost apologetically, "Is this seat taken?"

Bekka sighed, accepting that she wasn't going to be able to get back to her place on the beach before the testing started. She didn't like being forced into such close quarters with this old hispanic guy, or anybody else for that matter, but she figured that it could be much worse. At least he wasn't trying to strike up a conversation with her.

She had arrived here early so that she could claim an area for herself, but she hadn't counted on so many people showing up. She hated sharing space with other people, and was thankful to those who kept their distance. To her dismay, however, when a whole herd of college freshmen had entered, all wearing similar sweaters, each bearing the same three Greek letters, no doubt undergoing some fraternity's hazing ritual, they all unanimously decided to take the desks adjacent to the cute girl with slightly mussed up sandy blonde hair.

They would all realized their mistake fairly quickly.

The first to approach her tried to lay a hand on her shoulder and ended up with his face firmly planted into a desk, his hand twisted up over his shoulder. Despite the boy's screams of "Mercy! Mercy!", Bekka only relented because she was disgusted with having to touch the stranger's wrist in any fashion. Releasing the guy from the wristlock, she resolved that next time she would instead make use of one of the many sharpened pencils accompanying each desk.

After the incident, the fraternity freshmen had all retreated to desks as far away as possible, where they found a new girl to gain the attention of. To their delight, instead of physically assaulting them, this suitably chatty girl closed her hot pink laptop to give them all her attention. Bekka let out a snort of disgust at this, and there was an abrupt scraping sound as occupants of nearby chairs all simultaneously scooted their chairs away from her. On the bright side, Bekka mused, the room's other occupants had learned not to mess with the short, skinny girl in the corner.

It was for this reason that many of the eyes in the room turned toward Bekka as Drake addressed her, discreetly watching how she would handle this. Aware of the unwanted attention, Bekka scowled, thinking that she might have stood up and challenged the man if hadn't looked so pathetic. She decided not to waste any energy getting up, instead snapping sharply at him, "Does it look taken?"

The man was taken aback, but he simply shrugged his shoulders and sat down without another word.

Bekka didn't have much more time to simmer in her thoughts, for as the guy took the last remaining seat, a man wearing a Game Center uniform entered the room. Introducing himself as the test administrator, he traversed the rows of desks, dropping a thick test booklet on each. Every three desks or so, he would remind everyone that anyone who opened the test booklet before he ordered them to was to be immediately ejected with no monetary compensation.

As the administrator drew closer to her, Bekka could see that he was also inspecting identification cards. She drew her own identification card out and placed it on the test booklet in front of her, then retracted her arms to avoid having them accidentally brush with his. She never took kindly to strangers touching her, and the last person she wanted to find herself mad at was one of the Game Center officials.

In front of her, she could see that the old guy who had so brazenly addressed her previously was now fidgeting nervously, rearranging the set of identical sharpened pencils on his desk. As the test administrator passed by and studied the guy's identification card, he looked down guiltily and fidgeted even more.

The administrator raised an eyebrow and made a few notes in his clipboard before watching the man hastily write his name on the cover of the test booklet exactly as it appeared on his identification card. He moved on without comment, and the guy breathed out a muffled sigh of relief. This seemed curious to Bekka, but as the administrator approached her, began to understand why anybody would be a little nervous.

The administrator did the same for her, towering over her, commanding her to write her name down exactly as it appeared on the identification card. He took a few extra seconds looking alternatively at the card, then back at her, but made no extra notes. He tediously continued this way around the room until he had personally witnessed everyone sign their own test booklets and that the name written was exactly the same as it appeared on the identification card. At the end of this tedious task, he returned to the front of the room and signalled that they may open their tests and begin.

For once, Bekka was somewhat grateful for the classes she was taking in school. The first section, which focused on mathematics, started with ridiculously easy problems, but quickly evolved into an undecipherable series of symbols and characters. The Greek letters, some of which she recognized from the shirts of the freshmen fraternity members, seemed to be mocking her as she stared blankly at them. Unsure of what else to do, she traced over the black ink with her pencil in annoyance. _How are you supposed to do math when there are no numbers?_ Looking around, she felt a little more confident when she saw that she wasn't the only one who was stumped, and she was grateful when the administrator finally returned and allowed them to move on to the next section.

There were three sections altogether, the second and third sections focusing on reading comprehension and logical analysis. She had been fearing that there would be a science or history section, as there had been during standardized tests she had taken the previous year in school, but apparently that wasn't a knowledge base that the Game Center cared to check.

At the end of the third section, Bekka's hand was cramped, but she felt reasonably confident about her answers. The man who had identified himself as the test administrator made one more circuit through the rows of desks to collect the test booklets, then exited the room, leaving no instructions on what to do next.

Upon his exit, a silence permeated the room, but it didn't last long. There was a squealing noise of metal against linoleum as the group of freshmen near the front of the room rotated their chair around and began talking to each other. Others followed, and soon the room was saturated with the jumbled noise of scattered conversations.

Bekka didn't want a part of it. Whether they admitted it or not, everyone in the room was competing for similar positions, and she didn't want to get drawn into a forced conversation with a probable enemy. Instead, she sat back and closed her eyes, trying once more to find her warm, sandy spot on the beach. She had only just made it there when a voice over a loudspeaker began calling names of people and instructing them to continue to the next room.

As her luck had it, "Jukes, Rebekka" was one of the first names to be called. Reluctantly, she returned from her paradise by the sea, stood up, and slowly began making her way up the aisle, taking care not to brush up against anyone's legs. She didn't know what was behind that door, but she was fairly sure that it couldn't be much worse than being crammed in close quarters with all of these people for hours on end.

The passage beyond the door led to a miniaturized doctor's office. A nurse measured her height and weight, then dropped her off in a small examination room. Sitting on a small cot in the pristine white room, Bekka had a feeling that she knew what came next. Though she no longer had to deal with the closely crowded groups of people, this didn't promise to be much better.

A few moments later, a black haired man in blue scrubs walked through the door, introducing himself as Dr. Parker. He explained how he was going to do a simple examination of her heart and lungs by feeling her back as she took deep breaths. Halfway through his explanation, Bekka interrupted, "Can we not do this? I promise my heart and lungs are just fine. I'm a lifeguard, you know. I swim all the time and I run every morning. I'm in great shape!"

The doctor raised his eyebrows. "You do realize that by asking me not to take these measurements, you only make yourself look more suspicious" Sympathetically, he added, "It's not going to hurt and it's not invasive. I simply need to feel these spots on your back as you breathe, and.."

Bekka winced at the thought. "Stop it! Just.. stop it. Please." She took a few breaths to calm herself. "It's not that I don't want you to take the measurements; I'm just asking if there's another way."

The doctor shrugged. "I don't see what the problem is. It's not a big deal, I just have to..." He reached his hand out to demonstrate, but Bekka slapped the doctor's gloved hand away. Shocked, he took a step back, his expression both confused and hurt.

She was aware that he was just trying to do his job, but she was prepared to fight him rather than let him touch her in any way. It seemed such a simple request, for nobody to touch her, yet nobody seemed to ever be able to do it. People either didn't care how much she hated to be touched or would mock her for being so passionately averse to such a trivial thing. The standoff was interrupted as the door clicked open. Bekka and the doctor both looked over to see a man in Games Center attire enter the room holding a clipboard.

"I'm looking for a Rebekka Jukes?", he asked expectantly. When Bekka nodded at him, he motioned toward the hallway. "Will you follow me please?"

Bekka nodded, glad for the excuse to get away from this doctor who seemed intent on running his fingers down her back. Under the impression that she was being taken to the next stage of application, she was surprised when the uniformed man led her to what looked like a presidential office. The large office was furnished with various pieces of pottery, pedestals bearing busts of subjects that Bekka did not recognize, and a lavish oval rug, on top of which was a solid oaken desk. Behind the desk was a large, threatening man in a suit and tie. He was sitting in a rolling office chair, thumbing through an envelope full of papers.

As Bekka haltingly entered the room, the door closed behind her and the man looked up. His dark brown eyes were deeply set, and, though his lips curled up into a sly smile, the cold stare that came with it gave Bekka chills. There were few people Bekka had ever met that could intimidate her, but there was something about this man that made her feel uneasy.

The man set the envelope down on his desk face up, and Bekka caught a brief glance of her own name adorning the top of it before the man addressed her. Clasping his hands together atop his desk, the man spoke slowly and intentionally in a deep voice. "Rebecca Jukes. Welcome to the Game Center."

"It's Bekka." The reflexive response came out before Bekka could stop it. She realized too late that this may not have been an appropriate response.

The man gave her a half smile. "Ah, forgive me, Bekka", he said softly, but authoritatively. Motioning toward a cushioned seat, he continued, "Please. Sit down."

Bekka couldn't help but do as he requested, and found herself sitting down before giving it a second thought. The man smiled wryly, reclasped his hands, and narrowed his dark brown eyes at Bekka. "I'm not one for beating around the bush, so I'm going to get straight to the point." He opened the envelope, drew out a piece of paper, and pushed it across the table toward her.

Bekka looked down to see a sheet of paper, which was all white except for a small black and white copy of her identification card in the upper corner. It was covered with red markings pointing to different aspects of the card and, across the top of the paper, someone had stamped in red ink "Identification Card Denied".

A jolt of fear shot through Bekka as she briefly wondered what this man intended to do with this information. However, she held her composure, realizing that there must be some reason why she had been called here instead of being simply escorted out the door. She looked back up to see the man's narrowed eyes studying her reaction. "This is a mistake", she declared, adding a burning glare, daring him to deny it.

The man's stone face betrayed the slightest of smiles as he responded, "Oh, I believe we both know that this is no mistake. We both know that you're not yet 18 years old, and all applicants must be at least 18 years old."

Bekka glared at the man, then challenged, "If you're so sure that I'm not 18, then why haven't you kicked me out yet?"

"Good question, Bekka. I'm glad that you asked." The man leaned back in his chair, but kept his eyes on the girl before him. "To tell you the truth, if we received a dollar for every fake identification card we were shown, we wouldn't have a need for sponsors."

"What's your point?", Bekka spat acidly.

"My point is that we have a proposition for you." The man leaned forward once more, his smile finally revealing itself, though it didn't quite reach his stony stare. "At the moment, we happen to have an opening that I feel fits you perfectly, but there is one caveat." He paused for a moment, then continued, "The position we are offering is a part of a team based program."

Bekka scowled. "A team game? Since when have you ever had team games?"

The man ignored this, and held up a finger, waggling it. "My deal for you is this: I will allow you to join this program, but you will be secretly operating under special conditions. The first is that if, at any time, you betray your team and it causes them to lose, I will award you with not only your share of the prize money, but also your teammates' shares as well."

Bekka maintained a stone face, making a conscious effort not to betray any of her feelings.

Continuing, the man stated, "The second is that if you fail to betray your teammates, the Game Center will just so happen to suddenly discover that your identification is counterfeit, and both your participation and share of the prize money will be forfeit. These are my terms. Do you accept?"

Bekka stared at the man, thinking over what she had just been told. In truth, she was elated that she was going to get to play in the games after all, but she still felt that there was something that the man wasn't telling her.

Slowly, Bekka asked, "Why would you want me to betray my teammates?"

The man gave Bekka a comically large shrug. "Why do we do anything here? It makes good television, of course! It's just a game, after all."

Bekka had a feeling that there was more to it than just that, but she could tell that she wasn't going to get any more information out of him. At any rate, as long as she returned home victorious, what did she care about teammates? He was right; it is only a game after all.

Bekka nodded slowly. "Sounds good to me."

"Excellent!" The man clapped his hands together, a sly smile returning to his face. "Then, if you will, please follow my associate to the briefing room." He motioned behind her, where Bekka noticed that the man who had been administering the test earlier was holding the door open, waiting for her.

Glad to finally be done dealing with this man, she got to her feet and crossed the room toward the door. As she was escorted out of the room, she could hear the man behind her addressing her one last time in his cold, accusatory tone.

"I do hope you make the right decision."


End file.
